Whole and Incomplete
by ThatSassyCaptain
Summary: Not quite a drabble bin, but a lot of one-shots that aren't quite standalone material. Some related, some separate stories I found hidden under 6 layers of folders. No slash, major character deaths, or anything shady. T for utter paranoia, and probably medical angst. And H/C because let's face it- that's 75% of what I write.
1. Scotty's Sick

**A/N: A Scotty story.**

It was his worst day. That, Scotty knew without a doubt.

The _Enterprise_ had sent down a scientific crew to the dreary Pluviaru II in order to conduct a study on the local flora. Scotty and Commander Spock had been sent down to supervise, while (for once) The Captain, and Doctor McCoy had stayed aboard to process the incoming samples. They were looking for a key ingredient in the experimental Levodian Flu Vaccine. Starfleet had put a priority on this mission after a particularly nasty outbreak on Vulcan. And as procrastinating is illogical, they were here.

Fortunately, the scientific team had quickly located the prospective ingredients.

Unfortunately, it had rained. The. Entire. Time.

Scotty had beamed down in his regular uniform. A little rain wasn't going to bother a hardy Scotsman, or so he thought. A little rain had turned into a downpour, and then to moderate flooding. The rain was everywhere. There was no cover, no relief. By the time the expedition had nearly wrapped up, the storm had yet to follow suit. It was still pouring when they had started beaming back up. He'd had enough. The only thing left to do on the surface was pack crates and receive incoming samples from the Pluviarun Botanical Index, so that was a couple of wet hours he could afford to miss.

Scotty was soaked to the skin. His boots sloshed. His hair was stuck flat to his head. Every article was waterlogged. If one asked Lieutenant Kyle, he would say that 'Commander Scott looked a sorry sight' when he and his unit materialized on the pad.

He was soaked. He was tired. He was cold.

"Thank ye, Lieutenant. I'm glad to be off that wet, miserable-… ah… AAH-"

He sneezed.

He was _coming down with something._

Nurse Chapel had taken care of him in Sickbay, as Doctor McCoy was busy in he labs.

"It's just a cold." She had said, smiling. Just a cold. She might've said 'just a punctured lung' or 'just a broken leg' for all the discomfort he was feeling. He was purely miserable.

Scotty had been prescribed bedrest and a little purple pill once-every-six-hours-until-symptoms-subsided. He would do it _gladly._ Anything was better than this.

When Scotty arrived in his quarters at last, he was still mostly damp, shivering, and exhausted. He got out of his wet clothes first thing. A warm t-shirt and cozy sweatpants were a welcome change. Then, straight to bed. Scotty took the purple pill as per Nurse Chapel's instructions. He curled up on his mattress and pulled the blanket all the way over his head.

 _And now,_ he thought, _sleep at last._

Lieutenant Kyle was manning the transporter when it happened. It all started innocently enough: A pretty voice requested three to beam up. Kyle, thinking it was the last of the research team, obliged.

In short, he was mistaken.

Three women he did not recognize materialized on the platform in front of him. The first thing he noticed was their strange appearance: all had iridescent purple skin and dark hair. Secondly, he saw that they were advancing. In fact, they were moving with _lightning speed_. Before Kyle could even reach for his phaser, they were on him. Two of them pinned his arms at this sides, while the other relieved him of his weapon and communicator. Not to say Kyle didn't try to fight back. He struggled wildly against his captors, but they hardly responded. He went so far as to lash out with his feet, but had the same result as kicking a concrete block.

"Who are you?" He finally asked. "What do you want?"

The woman with his phaser cocked her head to the side at the query.

"We are Xarlana, Rhajine, and Ilen." Her voice sounded almost unnatural, as if she had to organize each syllable before speaking. "We are here to disassemble your warp core."

Kyle's eyebrows shot up. Suddenly, he realized what was happening. These women… They weren't alive, in the regular sense. They weren't _organic._

"You…" Kyle started, "You're androids!"

The leader snarled. "Yes. Stop wasting our time. Now, you will take us to your Captain."

Kyle snorted. "I will do no such thing."

The woman, being either Xarlana, Rhajine, or Ilen, studied him again.

"You will. Ilen, persuade him." Kyle jumped. The confused, almost indifferent tone of her voice all but erased the immanent threat. But not quite. The woman holding his left arm, Ilen he presumed, sent the lead lady a questioning glace. The head android nodded firmly. Ilen blinked and then slowly brought Kyle's arm further and further behind his back. He struggled still, but the grip was unwavering.

"I won't do it!" He shouted. "Whatever you do to me, you won't get the Captain or anyone else! Not while I can do something about it!" They were pretty brave words, he supposed, even though he was scared stiff. Kyle didn't consider himself a particularly brave man. He did everything in his power to perform his duty, and sometimes that meant being attacked by anybody who came through the transporter, ship's guests, crewmen under telepathic influence, prisoners, patients from sickbay, his commanding officers, certain doctors… Honestly, now that he thought about it, he should really write in a request for a raise considering all he had to put up with.

Fortunately for him, Ilen stopped after this outburst. She looked back to her leader.

"He will not, Xarlana!" She cried, distraught, "What shall we do?"

Xarlana studied the situation for a minute. Finally, she gave her other companion, Rhajine, a look. Rhajine nodded. Kyle knew what was coming. Resigned to his fate of waking up once again either in Sickbay or on the floor behind his console, he braced for impact. Rhajine didn't pull her punches.

The door chimed. Scotty had to bite his tongue, lest he inadvertently swear at his Captain or something. That would be awkward.

"Who is it?" He called.

"It's Harper, sir." Scotty groaned. The Ensign always seemed to be in his hair.

"What's th' matter, Harper? I'm off duty!"

"Sir, there's a fluxuation in energy readings on Deck 7. The computer archive seems to be operating normally, and we can't figure out what's causing it, sir."

Scotty sighed. It was a minor problem, really. Harper was always antsy about little things like this.

"If y'can't figure it out in… six hours, come back an' get me." Six hours. That was when he'd have to take another pill anyway.

"But sir-"

"Six hours, Harper! I'm sick, for goodness sake!"

"Sir, I really think-"

"If anythin' or anyone comes through that door, they're gonna get a greeting courtesy o' mah phaser, lad! Get back to work!"

Receding footfalls thudded in the hallway. Scotty nodded to himself and set his alarm for six hours. _Might as well check on the thing then anyway._ Before he settled back down all the way, Scotty had a sudden thought. He reached over to his bedside drawer and removed his phaser. He turned it over in his hands for a moment before deciding.

If Ensign Harper came back before the time was up, well… A light stun never _really_ hurt anyone.

The Rec Rooms were in chaos. Security couldn't get to them, since most of the doors on this deck were malfunctioning all of the sudden. They were trying to phaser through, but until then, they'd have to call in the cavalry.

In Doctor McCoy's book, 'armed to the teeth' meant as many hyposprays as he could carry. Nurse Chapel had brought a phaser rifle. In hindsight, her way was probably better.

There was a purple woman shoving crewmen into a supply closet. McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Drop him!" Chapel shouted at another interesting lady, who had Lieutenant Riley thrown over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She dropped him, quite forcefully, and turned to face the rescue party.

"You have no business here!" She addressed them loudly and drew the attention of her companions. One woman finished breaking the control panel on the supply closet, and the other paused her assault with a pommel horse.

"You bet your britches we do!" McCoy countered. "I will not have you tossing crewmembers around like playthings! You're liable to hurt somebody!"

Riley's former captor stared at them blankly. McCoy could tell that there was something _off_ about these ladies, but with his hands full of hypos, he couldn't do a lot to figure out what.

"And that would be unsatisfactory?"

"Unsatisfactory?" McCoy fumed. "It's horrible, that's what it is! Why, I've got half a mind to-"

The purple woman grabbed Riley and hoisted him into the air. There was a sound like grinding metal. Riley shouted in surprise.

"Then you will drop your weapons."

McCoy cursed under his breath. Chapel tossed down the phaser rifle with a glare that could melt dilithium.

Scotty decided that he would dismantle his doorchime. He would. He swore it. A glance told him it hadn't nearly been three hours, let alone six. He fumbled around for his phaser. The least he could do was scare Harper a bit. Teach the lad not to stick his nose into sick people's business.

The door slid open. That wasn't supposed to happen.

Scotty bolted upright and tried to fight the sudden dizziness that overcame him. Metal screeched. Somebody had a hold of his shirtfront before he could open his eyes. When he finally did, he found himself face to face with a very lovely metallic lady. He was stunned. _Well, this is new_ , his mind managed.

"You are the Mister Scott?" She demanded. Her expression was somewhere between defiant and concerned. Scotty wasn't sure what exactly the game was, but he wasn't in a position to do anything about it.

"Aye, that's- that's…" He tensed up before letting loose one heck of a sneeze. The metal lady didn't recoil, oddly enough, but she did seem confused.

"He is malfunctioning? Rhajine, use the Doctor's device. It will tell us."

Another woman appeared in his peripheral vision. At this point, Scotty's head was spinning enough to where he couldn't be sure of the real number. Maybe there were dozens. Who knows?

"Xarlana!" The second one cried. "He is deteriorating! Look at his readouts- they are dangerously out of acceptable parameters."

Scotty frowned. Either the mechanical miss didn't know how to operate a tricorder, or Nurse Chapel had lied to his face. Who did he want angry with him today…

"It's just a cold." Scotty waved a hand at the tricorder. "Nothin' to worry about."

The alarm he'd set earlier chose this moment to start shrieking. Scotty groaned. The noise, combined with the shrill metallic noise that started up for goodness knows what reason, was giving him a headache.

"His monitoring system! He is shutting down!" The third- there were three now? - woman sounded worried.

"It's just my medicine…" Scotty made to shut off the alarm. Xarlana, maybe, released his shirtfront, and he fell face first into the mattress.

"He has already reached physical shutdown!" Someone wailed. Scotty was hauled off the bedspread and cradled in multiple sets of arms. This was the strangest fever dream he could remember having.

Whichever one was on his left _loudly_ lamented the death of someone, which was then related back to his own misfortune. Scotty couldn't make out much over the pounding in his head.

"If you ladies would just let me-" He let out another mammoth sneeze. His well-meaning captors froze. "If you'd just let me take mah medicine…" Scotty sniffled. His voice sounded waterlogged. Nurse Chapel had said something about drainage.

He was allowed to fumble to his bedside table with some supervision. Scotty located the correct pill and reached for his glass of water. To his surprise, he found it was hovering just in front his nose. That was odd.

After he had gotten the prescription down, Scotty found himself being lowered onto his pillow. Somebody else tucked him in. It was soothing but…

"If ye don't mind mah asking, what the devil's goin' on around here?"

"Hurry, Spock! I'm sure your Vulcan ears can hear _that-_ "

Spock considered turning the phaser on Doctor McCoy, put the consequential paperwork required put him off of it. "I am going as fast as is possible, Doctor. If you wish for me to risk injuring myself or Mister Scott-"

McCoy huffed. "Of course not, you green blooded-… Just get on with it! Listen to him! They're torturing the poor man!"

Even Captain Kirk could hear the wheezing, accompanied every so often by screeching metal. When they'd finally freed the inmates of storage closet 3-A, Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel had made sure to fill him in on the situation. Shortly after Lieutenant Kyle was found unconscious behind the transporter console, the search was redirected toward Scott's quarters.

McCoy was about to launch another attack when he realized something. They were standing in the corridor trying to phaser through a portion of the wall just under the obliterated door controls. They were doing this, when they could just go to the room next door…

"Forget this! Follow me!" McCoy headed for his own door. The Captain and First Officer stared after him a moment, before the realization hit them as well.

"I can't believe-"

"It appears, Captain, that in our… haste that we overlooked a-"

"Would you two quit yammering and _come on?_ "

They followed the Doctor through his quarters. Spock did not comment on the state of disarray. These were desperate times indeed. The trio stopped outside the Doctor's bathroom. McCoy paused at the door.

"Doctor?"

McCoy fidgeted with the control panel a moment before turning around. "Swear, cross your hearts, you're never speaking a word of this to anyone!"

He was met with silence.

"It's not strictly _regulation_ , but no _official_ rules are being broken, so not a word!"

Not knowing what else to do, the Captain and First Officer both nodded.

"Right. Let's go save Scotty."

They passed through what could loosely be called a bathroom, and what could also be considered a liquor cabinet, and into Scotty's quarters.

They forgot about the alcohol. This was stranger by far.

Scotty was propped up on a stack of pillows, laughing as he read what sounded like a technical journal to three purple android women. Any time one of the ladies moved, there was a screech like no other. Scotty winced, but that was about the limit of his distress.

"Just what the blazes…" McCoy trailed off. The three of them were crowded in the narrow doorway without an idea as to what they should do. Luckily, Scotty noticed them.

"Captain! Oh, and Mister Spock, Doctor McCoy! You'll never believe…" Scotty froze before sneezing violently. In an instant, there were three tissues within reach. "Thank ye, ladies."

"I need a drink." McCoy murmured. He remembered all too well the cramped conditions inside storage closet 3-A, including all the whining Kevin Riley had done on account of his dislocated shoulder. The same women who had locked them up were now playing nurse. "Scotty, _what the-_ "

A barrage of sneezes interrupted him. "I'b sorry, Doctor." Scotty managed in spite of his rebelling sinuses. "If you'll give me a chance to exblain."

The three officers waited for the story of the year. Turns out, it was nothing short of remarkable. The androids, for androids they were, had come seeking help. Their creator had died and now their own systems were shutting down. Unstable grief had taxed their systems beyond acceptable limits. They'd succumb to malfunctions soon. Their mental programming remained, but their android bodies would cease to function. Scotty was sure they didn't have long.

"Perhaps…" Spock began, being the only one whose jaw was not on the floor, "…an arrangement could be made."

He ought to look up McCoy, the old rascal. Data- the android boy- assured him the Doctor was alive and kicking, even at the ripe old age of 140. They said Spock was out there too, somewhere.

Scotty wasn't feeling up to the task. After Jim- after the Captain had died, he'd thrown himself into his work, going deeper and deeper into space to escape. It seemed like the thing to be done. None of them had handled it well.

News of his death had been greatly exaggerated, but no one had expected him to be preserved in a transporter beam. Least of all Spock. Apparently, the Vulcan had done a great deal in his honor.

They'd named inventions after him, sure. Montgomery Scott was humble, but he knew his worth. It was flattering, but not unexpected. Especially after he was to have died.

But he didn't expect this. He didn't expect the Lieutenant Commander- Geordi, when he was off duty, Geordi- to bring him around to the holodeck.

"I had them back at the Academy. After all the times you- the _Enterprise_ \- ran into androids of non-human origin, they made it a mandatory class for the Engineering track."

"Made what a class, lad?"

"Functions and Life Stages of Androids. ENG 403." Geordi smiled and walked up to the computer console. "Computer, load program Instructional Engineering 403, Academy files."

The doors slid open.

"Run program."

And there were three lovely faces he'd almost forgotten. Ones he was quite sure he'd never see again."

"The Mister Scott! He is well, sisters, he is well!"

 **A/N: Not my best work, but I couldn't let it go by the wayside.**


	2. McCoy needs a nap or 12

Sleepy

If he hadn't'a been up all night proofreading reports, this never would've happened. Doctor McCoy yawned quietly into his hand. The longer this little get-together went on, the longer he went without a good few hours sleep. Too bad Spock was makin' a speech fit to reduce even a seasoned filibuster to tears.

Everybody was paying attention to the best of their abilities. Scotty appeared to be taking notes, but it was a science-y topic so that was par for the course. Uhura, not usually one to fidget, twirled a stylus in her fingers. Jim was the least subtle of the bunch- fiddling with his PADD of all things- but Spock was so caught up in Scotty's left-field inquiry that he didn't notice.

McCoy leaned into his fist. Sure, someday he may need to know about the resonance frequency of dilithium when exposed to electromagnetic fields of a certain magnification… Did the crystals even vibrate? What did the resonance do? So far as he could tell, none of the practical applications had been discussed in the… Forty. In the _forty_ minutes Spock had been talking.

Next time he had to perform surgery on resonating dilithium, he was gonna give Spock an earful.

He couldn't string together a really coherent thought after that point. McCoy made a half-hearted attempt to glare at Jim. It wasn't very becoming for the Captain to be goofing around during the meeting. Why, one wondered why Spock hadn't-

"Perhaps Doctor McCoy could enlighten us, that is, if he had been paying attention…"

He dropped his fist onto the table and blinked. Spock was giving him that look. The others had turned on him as well. Jim hid a giggle behind his hand. _Alright._ Two could play at this game.

"Why Spock, you know better than any of us that it's a _controlled_ annihilation reaction. You can skip the basics on this section and go right along with your theory. Unless, of course, Jim needs a second to update his notes. You're bein' real thorough, aren't'cha?"

Jim hastily set his PADD on the table while the rest of them stared at McCoy, dumbfounded. He grinned easily and sat back in his chair. "Go ahead, Spock. Tell us about those charged particles."

Spock, whose eyebrows had ascended from this plane of existence, turned back to the screen. McCoy crossed his arms and smirked. After that fiasco, Jim might call it early and he could get to that nap. And sure enough, nobody asked him any more fool questions. Perfect.

Really, just how did these folks think he _got_ through medical school?

Drowsy

Just who's bright idea was it to change his alarm tone to that shrill screaming noise?

Wait.

McCoy's head shot up off his desk. It took a second for his vision to clear, but he was already stumbling towards the door. He blinked hard. It was too dark in here by far… Oh. The bright lights of the Sickbay made him squint and that shrieking was much louder out here.

It was Nurse Klayton. Well, he thought that was her. Somebody in blue flew into his arms and nearly knocked him over. McCoy grabbed onto the hysterical wrecking ball and took a bracing step backwards.

"Now just hang on a minute here." Klayton was much less coherent up close. McCoy tried to get a look at what might be troubling her, but she had her face buried in his uniform. That wasn't very professional. Something must be _seriously_ wrong.

McCoy glanced around to see what might've set her off. Couldn't be the empty biobed, or the floating tricorder- that one was harmless enough-, maybe the broken glass on the floor that might be…

He _had_ to find some time to sleep.

While some of his wits were still in the gathering stage, McCoy did what he could and got between Klayton and the apparition. The tricorder didn't seem to be doing much, but it was the principle of the thing that offended him.

"That ain't oughta be floatin'." He remarked. It may just be his imagination, but he could swear he heard somebody snort. He narrowed his eyes. Un-sourced giggling meant pranksters, and pranksters in Sickbay were awarded a slow and painful death. They all ought to know better after the last prank war. Kevin Riley hadn't been able to look McCoy in the eye for weeks.

McCoy looked around. No strings visible, but that didn't mean much. "Alright, who's the wise guy? I won't have you runnin' around, terrifyin' my nurses for no good reason. You better come clean b'fore I get Security down here to sweep the deck. Your little scheme ain't the only thing that's gonna get busted, lemme tell you-!"

The tricorder descended. Slightly. Come to think of it, it hung about where it ought to if it was being worn by somebody. Klayton stayed put behind her human shield, but McCoy was starting to have second thoughts about this here poltergeist. They might be able to chase it off with a stern warning.

"Wery sorry, Doctor. I was just having a bit of fun."

"Chekov." He should'a known. No, wait a minute, how could he have known? Also, why was the ensign invisible? What had Chapel put in that coffee?

"It was a side effect of the radiation on the planet's surface." The disembodied Russian accent said. "It is only temporary. Meester Scott said it would last no more than half an hour. There have been studies…"

McCoy blinked. Yes, he did remember something like that from the briefing. But, nobody'd mentioned the fact that invisible crewmen were going to be running around wreaking havoc. He was pretty sure there was a regulation against that. Would Scotty _really_ sentence Chekov to certain death-by-angry-CMO? Something about this didn't sit right. McCoy frowned. Because if he remembered right, in the briefing Jim'd said- he'd said… Oh for the love-

"It don't work on clothes, do it?"

"Not exactly sair, but I have fifteen minutes left until the effect starts to fade. I also received permission from the Keptin to… haunt the Sickbay, provided I did not interfere with the patients-"

"Chekov, you may've lost track of some time waitin' 'round here to scare somebody." That, and Jim was officially living on borrowed time. There were two ways this could go down: If Chekov stayed, he'd be subject to whatever punishment McCoy saw fit to inflict and Klayton would get and eyeful. Or, Chekov could get the heck outta Dodge.

"I uh…" He pushed Klayton further behind his back. "I suggest you run."

The tricorder hurried away faster than he thought was possible. Klayton returned to her post and McCoy returned to his office, shut off the lights, and dropped his head into his hands.

Boy, they did _not_ pay him enough for this.

Tired

Janice had made him coffee this morning. She alone would be spared.

Doctor M'Benga had contracted Cetarian Influenza. The poor man was suffering in quarantine and couldn't help screen the crew for parasitic larvae they'd picked up on the beaches of Marecis II. Shore leave. McCoy figured at this point it was just another way to say 'testing Medical's patience'.

"Report to Nurse Chapel for decontamination." Lieutenant Brent's eyes went wide. McCoy almost felt sorry for the guy. Brent was nice, and the decontamination process was not. It involved several hypos and a few awkward showers. Come to think of it, he almost felt sorry for Chapel too. But sympathy came with sleep, and he hadn't had any since… uh…

"Next!"

McCoy ran his scanner over Lieutenant Leslie. Yep. He and Brent were pals. They'd probably picked up the larvae at the same… He frowned at the scanner in his hand.

"Leslie, where did you come into contact with sand?" Maybe he could narrow it down. McCoy scrubbed at one eye and waited for an answer.

Leslie swallowed. "The north beach. Brent, Riley, Sulu, and I played volleyball all afternoon." That sealed Leslie's fate. Riley had already been admitted. He'd walked out of decontamination a broken man. That'll teach them to ignore wildlife advisories.

McCoy might be able to nip this in the bud. The north beach had an advisory out since before the _Enterprise_ arrived. He glowered at Leslie, leaning in close to make sure his point went home.

"If you'd like your next physical t' go smoothly," He began, "then you're gonna round up ev'ry single person you even _think_ might've been on that beach and bring 'em straight to Nurse Chapel." McCoy slapped his PADD against his hand. "Understood?"

Leslie squeaked something and took off down the line. McCoy sighed. He'd still have to screen everyone who'd been on leave, but at least he'd get through his part faster. Chapel had the added benefit of having commandeered the cargo bay to conduct things in. Blasted shore leaves…

Everyone who'd witnessed what had happened to Leslie approached McCoy trembling. They'd see. They'd all see.

He was just finishing the last patient- Janice, bless her, had brought him more coffee- when an exceedingly pale Leslie shuffled up. McCoy raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone's reported to decontamination, sir, except me and-"

"And just _why_ haven't you gone down, Lieutenant? Do you _want_ the rest of the ship catchin' these little parasites?"

Leslie was a very brave man. Still, he looked like he was going to keel over any second.

"I was going to, sir. Everyone's reported except me and the Captain." He misinterpreted the darkening expression on McCoy's face and panicked. "I tried to find him. I looked everywhere!"

McCoy straightened up and set the PADD down on the desk. Leslie fell quiet.

"You." He jabbed a finger at the Lieutenant. "Chapel. _Now._ "

Leslie might've broken the sound barrier had he left any faster. McCoy took a deep breath, straightened his tunic, and walked out of his Sickbay.

Jim didn't stand a chance.


	3. Scotty & Uhura do Mirror, Mirror

**A/N: I'm resolving Mirror, Mirror without the help of Jim and/or Spock.**

He was beat. Anyone would be fried after such a stressful day. People were like machines in that respect. Scotty reflected on his own exposed wiring, the circuits and connections that had been taxed. He'd taken a fair few hits in the Sickbay, for the physical side. As far as the CPU went, he'd be reliving some of those memories for a long time to come. Nerves shot, limbs heavy, eyes red, Scotty trudged off the transporter pad. But boy, was he glad to be home.

Kyle stood behind the transporter console grinning like an idiot. Spock too, but the grin was in his eyes and so much wiser. It was as if he knew what had happened. Most likely, he experienced the loss more than the rest of the crew. Heck, he was probably the one that figured it out to begin with.

The Captain was thrilled. Well, they all were, but Kirk was the most talkative. He practically leapt off the platform to greet his First Officer, to greet his ship. They'd all missed her terribly.

Scotty's old bones longed for his bed, but first things first he'd have to get a look at the data. Yes, Kyle assured him, he had been recording everything since they'd encountered the ion storm. For purely scientific purposes, and then to see if there was anything they could do to reverse the fouled-up beam-up.

They interrogated the wiring for another half hour on top of the three spent pouring over the readings. And Scotty threw himself into the work. He found himself thanking God every time Kyle made a little joke, every time the lieutenant smiled instead of throwing his head back and screaming. That sound would be difficult to chase out of the hard drive.

Finishing up was much harder than starting. The pair of them were left- at the tail end of a shift, mind- with the task of reassembling the console. Scotty didn't mind the busywork. It was his mess, and he was glad to clean it up. He and Kyle parted amicably, and Scotty decided that this could all be smoothed over with a bottle of scotch and some solitude.

His legs became heavy again by the time he reached his door. The lights in the corridor had dimmed and there weren't any people lingering about. Everyone who had this shift was working, and everyone who didn't was asleep. Scotty punched in his code and threw his boots off in the doorway.

He couldn't bring himself to the liquor just yet. First, it was pajamas (just a t-shirt and sweatpants) and finding the soft quilt in the closet. Even the bears made preparations before hibernating. Scotty was sure as Klingon bloodlust that the Captain would give them tomorrow off. Maybe two days, but he'd not count his chickens before they hatched.

Right now, there was scotch to be had. Scotty rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Beyond the privilege of rank was the privilege of being and engineer who had his Captain's complete trust. The bathroom had its own odds and ends that would turn many a head if the silence of the connecting room could not be bought. Why keep the goods in Engineering when he and McCoy could have a stash to themselves? It also meant easy access whenever he wished.

Before Scotty could indulge, his door chimed. He braced himself. At this time of the ship's night, it had to be one of the lads with an emergency. They knew better than to wake him at this hour- they had tried and paid dearly before- unless it was an _emergency_. Urgent. The-dilithium-crystals-are-in-flames.

Scotty scrubbed a hand across his face and went to the door. He wouldn't shoot the messenger, but the lad would get an earful for certain.

"Where's the fire- Oh." Red uniform. _Not_ a lad from Engineering. No siree. "Oh, Lieutenant Uhura I… ah…" She still looked as lovely as ever, like she had just stepped from her station fresh-as-can-be, not at all like it was late in the ship's evening after a troublesome day. Scotty was in his pajamas.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Scotty…" She looked down at the pj's. "I didn't mean to wake you. You and Kyle were tearing the transporter apart. I figured you would be awake."

"Aye." Scotty, dumbfounded. "Haven't gone to sleep yet. I um… considering a drink."

"Oh. I see." It did make sense after all. Uhura folded her hands together. "I wanted to talk with someone. The Captain and Mister Spock are on the bridge, and I know Doctor McCoy is dead to the world- he told me so much before he decided to turn in."

"Oh." Eloquent. Scotty moved aside in his doorway. "Be my guest. Have a seat, if ye like."

Uhura smiled at him gratefully. She stepped past and took a seat at the desk, supposing that there'd be a bottle of scotch out if she'd arrived two minutes later. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

"It helps to talk about these things." Uhura began when Scotty had seated himself. "Christine showed me the truth in that. I mean, on some level I knew it instinctively…" She chuckled. "You know what I mean? It makes sense, but I never really understood until after Nomad." Scotty nodded. For Uhura more than anyone, there would have been a lot to talk through. He couldn't imagine that kind of total reset. It took a resiliency- no, a determination- to come back from something like that so completely as she had. Scotty had Nomad's help and that of McCoy. Blink, and he was whole again, as he'd been. Uhura was forced to make her own way.

Her face became grave. Scotty sat up straighter in his chair.

"I don't want to see Sulu like that." Uhura laced her fingers together on the table. "That's not who he is and I refuse to remember him that way. And I don't want him floating alongside Nomad in my dreams." She smiled at her hands. "The silly thing takes up too much of the helm as it is."

"Aye." Scotty was not a man of many words. He could work up a speech if he had the drive, but this was a time for listening. "The hardest job of 'em all was yours, lass." This he said with the utmost respect. It was true. None of the rest of them had to face the enemy alone, on the enemy's home court. She had distracted Sulu at the crucial moment. None of this would have worked without her.

Uhura smiled at him. It was the first time he noted the tiredness in her eyes. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. You know they were horrible."

"Aye." He felt like a broken record. "They came burstin' through the doors to the Sickbay. I thought we were goners, for sure." How Uhura had worked calmly alongside _that_ he'd never know.

"And I know Sulu isn't like that. That's not who he is, _our_ Sulu. He likes gardening and adventure novels and weird, antique weaponry…" Uhura spoke with conviction, like this was an argument that needed to be won. As it should be. Scotty knew the importance of preserving a file correctly. Save it right the first time and you'd never have to rewrite it. You'd never have to second-guess the way it was supposed to be.

She took a deep breath and continued. "He's not the man in red with the scar. That man is on the other side of a freak accident, impossible to reach." This was true as well. It had been- dare he say it- the perfect storm for such a contact. Uhura kept going. "None of them are here. Everything is right in the world. Isn't it?"

The time for his speech had come. Scotty didn't have so much as two words to string together off the top of his head. He'd been listening intently. Now, Uhura was looking at him to confirm what she'd so beautifully laid out. All _was_ right in the world. This was their ship and their friends and everyone was safe again.

"Aye." If he started so much as one more sentence with that… Scotty set out his mental fortifications. "It's exactly that. No more runnin' around in ridiculous uniforms, no more assassinations, no more knives, no more plots, no more bad goatees." This got a giggle out of her, and he plowed on. "We're out of that mess. More likely'n not there's another comin', but we've got our own crew back. Even on a bad day, there's nothin' in the galaxy that can stop the good ol' _Enterprise_."

Uhura practically glowed. She felt it as much as Scotty did. This was their home, and the crew was their family. As long as they had each other, nothing could touch them.

"I don't know about you, Scotty," she stretched her hand out and laid it on one of his, "but that's exactly what I needed to hear."

Scotty was going to reply in kind. It was going to be sincere and heartwarming, but he was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. Nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"What was that?" Uhura had the sense to wonder.

"It came from the…" Oh. It came from the bathroom. More likely than not, the good Doctor had decided it was the kind of evening for a bottle or two. That liquor cabinet really was a wonderful idea.

Scotty sighed. "I'll see to it. Doctor McCoy…?" It wouldn't hurt to try and gauge the situation before he went in. For all he knew, it could be nothing serious.

There was a shuffling sound, and something else. Scotty listened hard, but he couldn't- mumbling? McCoy wasn't responding to him, either way. It was probably nothing, but Scotty wasn't going to let it get sorted out all on its own. He'd make sure the good Doctor was alright.

The door slid open, and he discovered he was right. The remains of a glass were scattered across the tile floor. McCoy stood next to the sink, looking down on the mess. That was where Scotty's predictions faltered. McCoy didn't look alarmed or even disgruntled. In fact, it didn't look like he was aware the glass had fallen.

"McCoy…?" Scotty tried again. The Doctor had an odd look in his eyes, something like exhaustion. Maybe the poor man had been overtired before the day's craziness. Scotty supposed McCoy might even be sleepwalking. No other explanations were forthcoming.

"Ah, well. If you're asleep, then I cannae expect you to help me clean this up, can I? Don't worry," he called to Uhura, "Just a wee accident. Be with ye in a moment." Scotty chuckled as he started gathering the larger pieces of glass in a towel. McCoy was barefoot, and he didn't want the Doctor accidentally hurting himself in this state. The muttering continued and Scotty resigned himself to pick up every single piece of glass.

He shook his head. McCoy hadn't done this before; at least, Scotty had never caught him. It didn't seem like the Doctor, but there were lots of embarrassing little things they didn't tell each other. Scotty never told anyone he was terrified of wolves. It wasn't something that came up in everyday conversation. If McCoy's sleepwalking didn't interfere with ship's business, then Scotty saw no reason why the Doctor should have-

"I know what you know."

Scotty stopped. That was a sentence. He turned to look at McCoy, who was still standing next to the sink. No, the Doctor hadn't moved from his spot. He was just standing there, staring off somewhere into the shower. Scotty squinted at him before returning to his work. Now that he thought about it, he'd better pick up the pace. If McCoy fell down in the next few minutes, his t-shirt and shorts wouldn't protect him much from the glass. Scotty started sweeping it into a pile with the rug, which was already covered in glass itself. In another few moments, he had a mostly-glass-free floor to work with.

"That's sorted well enough for now." Scotty dusted himself off as he stood. "What say we get you back to bed, Leonard?" He turned his attention back to McCoy, smiling. He didn't like what he found.

"Nahp, hif-bi tu throks… I know what you… ti-amah…" The blank expression remained fixed upon McCoy's face. His attention didn't waver from whatever was so captivating about the shower.

Scotty frowned. That sounded mostly like gibberish to his ears. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. But the most disconcerting things by far were still the Doctor's eyes. McCoy didn't blink. Scotty started when his friend took a lurching step forward and nearly fell headlong. Quick to McCoy's side, Scotty tried to assess exactly _what in the name of all that's holy was going on._

"Leonard?" He tried shaking McCoy gently. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought it might be bad to wake a sleepwalker, but he had to do _something_. The man wasn't capable of going anywhere on his own. Scotty got McCoy back to a somewhat standing position.

He was in for another surprise. A drop hit his arm. Alarmed, Scotty looked up to find the tears rolling off McCoy's face. Only, the Doctor didn't seem to be aware of them at all. His eyes were still wide and his expression hadn't changed. Scotty could only speculate on what was going on inside McCoy's head, but he knew one thing for sure: the Doctor didn't need to spend another minute in this cold bathroom.

"Uhura…" She was already on her way. Something about this didn't sit right. She'd been able to tell that from across the room.

"Get him out of there." She could tell straight away that the Doctor was in a state. Scotty could see well enough, but he was still wary about the whole sleepwalking thing. He adjusted his grip. McCoy was getting out of there one way or another. Scotty's way involved some carrying.

It wasn't difficult getting the Doctor out of the bathroom. The hard part came when Scotty leaned his friend against the wall for a second so he could get a better hold on him. Whatever McCoy was dreaming started to become more troublesome.

The Doctor started talking again, albeit still in gibberish, but he sounded odd. Scotty couldn't place it for a second in his sleep-deprived state, but he did recognize the tone at last. McCoy was distressed by something in his head and he was projecting his distaste by lashing out at Scotty. Yes. Distress did feel like an elbow to the eye.

"Leonard, get a hold of yourself! It's me!" Pulling the Doctor off of the wall certainly helped. At least it stopped the assault. But, the gibberish continued. That, and a decent patch of Scotty's shirt was getting soaked. Still holding to his conviction that he shouldn't just slap the poor man awake, Scotty contemplated his next move. He didn't want to babysit McCoy all night. But he couldn't leave the Doctor alone either. The man had already broken one glass. Who knows what could happen if he got turned loose again?

"Any ideas?" He held the teary-eyed Doctor just outside the bathroom. Scotty was exhausted himself, but whatever McCoy had been up to had taken its toll. Come to think of it, how long had the Doctor's shift gone on before the Halkan mission? How long had it been since the man had slept?

Uhura glanced around the room. "Try getting him to the couch. At least he can't hurt himself over there. I've got to see something." She darted over to Scotty's computer. That left McCoy in just one pair of hands. Scotty dragged the poor Doctor over to the sofa. McCoy nearly fell onto the cushions, but once he'd settled he managed to stay put.

That left a lot of things up in the air. Scotty's money was still on sleepwalking. Not only did it explain all the strange behavior, but it was far more plausible than 'alien mind control' or something equally ridiculous and disconcerting. And McCoy was just shaking because he was cold and tried. Yes, that made sense. Scotty could lend him a blanket for the time being.

He tucked his quilt around McCoy's shoulders. The good Doctor seemed to shrink inside the fabric, relaxing a bit now that he was warm. Scotty sat down next to him on the sofa and made sure the quilt was secure, only to find himself being accosted. The Doctor grabbed his arm with both hands. McCoy had his eyes fixed on the floor, but he didn't waver in his grip on Scotty's arm.

It was then that Scotty noticed the shaking. McCoy's hands _never_ shook. Not unless he had a few holes in him, and Scotty was pretty confident that wasn't the case. There was definitely something going on here. He started to think that 'sleepwalking' just didn't fit the bill.

"Scotty…?" It was the last thing he'd expected to hear. More gibberish, maybe, but not his name. McCoy's fingers dug into his arm, and the Doctor spoke again. "Scotty, help me. I can't m-make it stop… I don't- I don't know what's wrong…"

He didn't have much in the way of 'instincts' when it came to this kind of thing. He'd much prefer to let someone more qualified handle it.

"Uhura…" McCoy didn't look like he was letting go any time soon. Scotty felt awkward as he placed a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "There there, McCoy. Everything's fine."

McCoy chose that moment to make a full reversal. He took two fistfuls of Scotty's shirt in a white-knuckled grip. "There's nobody…" McCoy whispered. "Nobody anywhere. Nowhere I can go Scotty, no one to…" He broke the contact with a shove. The Doctor started lashing out, throwing elbows and tossing blankets in his panic.

Scotty could see the situation was getting out of hand. "Leonard!" He tried again. The Doctor was going to hurt himself if he kept this up. Scotty did the only thing that made sense. He grabbed the flailing McCoy and dragged him in, catching a wrist and pinning it to the Doctor's own chest.

"Uhura! He's…" Scotty had to lean out of the way of a nasty head-butt. McCoy was fighting, but Scotty had a few more pounds on him, as well as a bit of muscle. But it didn't seem as if McCoy was out to hurt anyone. If Scotty had to describe his friend's mood, he'd say 'flighty' or 'panicky', not 'malicious'. The Doctor appeared scared of something. But they were safe. What could he be afraid of?

Uhura abandoned the computer and returned to the bedside. She grabbed McCoy's shoulders and tried to reason with him. "Doctor McCoy, you have to stop. Poor Scotty can't take much more of this!"

As slighted as 'Poor Scotty' felt at this remark, he knew an appeal like that would get McCoy's attention. The man had a heart of gold, and when it came to helping other people there was no one more compassionate. McCoy was a doctor through and through. He would do no harm, even in a situation like this.

McCoy gradually regained his senses and stopped thrashing around like a cat in a bathtub. He didn't make a move to escape, only concentrated on his breathing. It looked to Scotty as if he was calming himself down. By golly, it had worked.

"Leonard?" If the Doctor was in his right frame of mind, he might answer. Scotty could feel McCoy shaking again, and that was a bad sign. On top of all that, they still didn't know what was going on! Well, Uhura might, but she was keeping him in the dark for some unfathomable reason.

"What happened?" Uhura adopted a less aggressive stance while she tried to coax some answers out of the startled man. "You were sleepwalking and speaking Vulcan. Now, I know you're the doctor here, but that just isn't normal. Tell us what's wrong."

McCoy took a deep breath and Scotty realized he might possibly be doing something like squeezing the life out of the poor Doctor. He loosened his hold accordingly.

"It's not the same." McCoy whispered. "It wasn't like any of the others. He just…" Scotty didn't recognize the vague gesture. What he did notice was the bruising on McCoy's left arm. He didn't remember anything like that happening.

Uhura took McCoy's hands gently. He looked up at once. Scotty found himself marveling at Uhura's _way_ with people. She was the one driving this inquiry. She was the one who'd managed to get McCoy to stop swinging.

"You can tell us. Scotty and I won't let anything happen to you." She squeezed his fingers gently. McCoy started to deflate.

"He uh…" the Doctor licked his lips. "Spock, um- I didn't actually tell him. I wasn't going to, honest, and- and I didn't even think about _words_ when he asked. He just… went straight for a mind meld. It wasn't the way Spock usually- our Spock- he doesn't make it…" McCoy swallowed. "It _hurts_."

Uhura's face was grave. That… Scotty was no expert, but he had to say that sounded _bad_. No, it was horrible. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Of course, Scotty had never been in a mind meld himself, but Spock had explained the principle once when they were discussing technical journals. They way he understood it, a mind meld was a data exchange. Each system lowered their firewalls to allow the other party access to some information. There was mutual exchange, and both systems had edited user permissions. It was a fascinating and surprisingly simple concept.

But this was different. It sounded like that other Spock had… well, he'd invaded McCoy's system and dismantled his defenses before going after whatever he wanted. Sorting through personal files, bypassing locks and permissions to his own ends. That kind of breach was a technicians' worst nightmare. How bad did that have to feel inside your own mind?

"I couldn't…" McCoy cleared his throat gently. "There was nowhere to run. Everyone had left, and he… he wouldn't let me go. I couldn't even fight 'im. It was like I was frozen to the spot." The Doctor shuddered again. "I was sure y'all were goners when… I can't _believe_ Jim talked him out of it."

Spock had sauntered in dragging the Doctor along like a prize… Scotty had been off the transporter pad in a moment. He did stop short after seeing such clear resignation on McCoy's face. Scotty checked for signs of a fight, but had found none. He figured that Spock may have been putting them all on. The sneaky Vulcan might've faked his condition to get the upper hand. That seemed to be the case. And McCoy looked troubled. Scotty knew that long before the Doctor was cast off on him so Spock could pursue his 'bigger fish to fry'. He hadn't thought much of it at the time. Scotty just figured McCoy'd felt guilty for telling. But no. It was so much deeper, and he'd even seen the signs.

But Scotty _forgot_. When he saw Spock- _their Spock_ \- standing next to Kyle while the Lieutenant manned the transporter with a smile, he couldn't help but bound off the pad with the rest of them. The plan had worked! All their postulation and haphazard guesses had turned out correct. There had been a slim chance, but they made it.

"It's not your fault, Leonard." Uhura pursed her lips. "Maybe he'll be the change his universe needs, though I can't help but hope he gets what's coming to him. Unless he changes, they'll just keep destroying each other."

"It… it feels good." McCoy sniffed. "To say it. It hurts like the Dickens, but it _happened._ I c-can't change it, but at least…" He trailed off. _At least he wouldn't have to carry that alone?_

Uhura rubbed McCoy's shoulder gently. "Just let it out. We're here for you, me and Scotty both."

"Thanks. I'm- well, part of me is glad this isn't happening in front of Jim or Spock."

"Aye." Scotty chimed in. "That'd be right uncomfortable." He could see how Captain Kirk, consumed with guilt for standing by while the other Spock got away with this _invasion_ , would make this process more difficult. Spock would do the same, only with more cold science. He may not have the instincts for this kind of thing, but Scotty could see that what McCoy really needed was familiarity and some listening ears. Not a set of statistics or a lavish apology.

Scotty couldn't think of anything to say. Words were definitely not his department. Uhura was more than capable of doing the talking. Scotty was just here for support. He picked the quilt up off the floor and wrapped it around McCoy's shoulders. It was the least he could do.

McCoy seemed to respond to it well. The Doctor sighed and relaxed a little. More than that, he addressed Scotty for the first time since he'd snapped out of it.

"Thanks Scotty." He said. "I don't think I'd'a gotten through it without you."

If he wasn't speechless before, Scotty sure didn't have anything to say now. But, with the Doctor's breathing was finally starting to even out, he reckoned he didn't need to.

Uhura's gentle humming eased the silence. They were safe here, the three of them. They had each other, and that in itself was all the comfort of home. Security, stability, everything they needed was here, and they were each more than willing to provide.

All their troubles were a universe away.

 **A/N: When I was looking at the timelines, I realized just how difficult that stretch of episodes is for everyone.**


	4. Literally All Alien Tests Are Awful

**A/N: Self-indulgent H/C and Angst, all summary disclaimers still apply.**

The people of Mnas III were advanced. By any standards, their progress was remarkable. Technological advances on the planet were such that the population desired nothing- not even to expand into space. Disease was nonexistent. Poverty, it seemed, wiped out. To an outsider, certainly, it was impressive.

But the Mnasons' reasons for opening talks were unknown. So far, nothing they said had indicated they wanted anything, much less something the Federation could offer. It was as big a mystery as ever when the _Enterprise_ achieved orbit around the strange planet. The USS _Lexington_ would've carried out the mission, had she not been undergoing repairs.

Jim Kirk had apologized profusely to Captain Wesley, but the _Lexington's_ CO wouldn't hear of it.

"You take this one, Jim." Bob Wesley said. "You can try and take the fall any way you like, but I'm convinced it's no one's fault but Daystrom's. And the Admiralty's." Wesley grinned. "Besides, I've had enough of the Mnasons' interrogations. You're new meat, and they'll waste no time getting personal, Jim."

This was said half in jest and half as a warning. Apparently, the inhabitants of Mnas III _did_ want for one thing: information.

"Will do, Bob. And you can deflect all you want but I _am_ sorry about your ship. I hope repairs go smoothly and you can come take over the boring stuff so I can go back on patrol."

Wesley chuckled at that. It seemed odd, but the _Enterprise_ ran into more nonsense than any other ship in the fleet, perhaps in the whole Federation. Of course, it meant there was never a dull moment.

"Got it Jim. But, I've got half a mind to take it easy and let you handle the whole thing."

It was Kirk's turn to laugh. "And they say Captain Wesley has no sense of humor!" The comm unit whistled and Kirk checked the chronometer. "That's my cue. Hate to cut and run, but I've got your mess to sort out."

"The requirements of the service, my friend. See you when I see you. Wesley out."

Kirk made his goodbyes and ended the transmission. That was the signal for their arrival. He was needed on the Bridge.

/*\\\

"Now, Jim, I don't see the reason behind it."

"The reason, Bones?" Kirk checked the PADD one last time before passing it back to the young lieutenant. Kyle was ready and waiting behind the transporter console.

"Yes, Jim. The reason why they always want the senior officers to beam down." McCoy tapped his foot at the base of the transporter pad, decidedly _not_ on the device itself. "It doesn't matter that Spock and I are hardly diplomats and all you've got in your favor is the grace of God and enough dumb luck to-"

"Alright, Bones." He sighed. It was like they did this every time. There was always something. Bones would take a set against the planet, the transporter, the mission- _something-_ and then spend the rest of the prep time complaining about it.

Kirk strode over to the pad and dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "What's eating you? Really?"

For his part, McCoy managed to keep a scowl on his face. "You got your gut feelings, Jim, and I've got mine. If this is so blasted important to these people, why not wait for the _Lexington_ , for some folks they knew? They want trustworthy negotiators or so they say, but settle for strangers. It was like they jumped at the chance to get us."

Kirk gave his friend a look. There was only so much paranoia he could stand on this ship and Bones was about to cross that threshold. "Are you saying they were desperate to get someone other than Wesley and his people?"

"No." McCoy huffed. "But don't you think it's a little too odd that the moment they dock for repairs, the Mnasons are clamoring for talks?"

"It wasn't broadcast to the whole galaxy, Bones." Kirk put his hands on his hips. Sometimes, it was a bit too much. "The timing was bad, sure, but what makes you think it was anything more than a coincidence? It's not like the Mnasons have an invisible ship following us around."

McCoy jabbed a finger in Kirk's direction. "No, but the Romulans do. A people as technologically advanced as the Mnasons could've pulled something off."

This was getting old. They'd have to beam down as soon as Spock arrived. The First Officer was stowing some volatile chemicals in the lab and could not be rushed for man nor beast nor supernova.

"I think you play the devil's advocate too much for someone with an aversion to pointed ears."

"And I think you're too reckless by half and one of these days, you're gonna-"

"Captain. Doctor McCoy."

Spock chose this moment to enter. He had not a hair out of place- despite having moments ago been incased in protective gear- and seemed unfazed by the tension in the room. Some of that did ease upon his arrival. Kirk got out of his stance to address his First Officer.

"Spock. Everything went smoothly in the labs I hope?"

Spock inclined his head. "Indeed Captain. The samples of Hannacium II are contained. The experimentation process is set to run according to schedule."

"Excellent news, Spock." Kirk clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Alright, gentlemen, I'm ready to stretch my legs. Mister Kyle, are we all set?"

Kyle beamed. "Set and ready, sir. As soon as you like, I have the coordinates for transport."

"Wonderful. Let's get this show on the road."

/*\\\

"And your combat skills, Captain? Do you find them more or less valuable than your wits? Do they account equally in your estimation?"

Wesley was right. The Mnasons were not only inquisitive, but borderline intrusive. Kirk had given Bones strict orders not to get riled, and to Spock he simply nodded. Spock understood.

Thackeros was the head of the province and had come to meet the _Enterprise's_ envoy as the planetary leader had fallen ill. Governor Thackeros- Kirk was instructed to use this title as the Mnason term didn't translate smoothly- was also in charge of Kirk's interrogation.

There was a proper noun for it on Mnas III. It came down to something like 'the Knowing' and it was standard protocol when encountering new people. _This must be what Wesley was talking about_ Kirk mused as he walked the gardens with the Governor. _No wonder he was excited to dump this off on me._

Kirk took a breath. "I'd say these are incompatible areas of comparison. Of course, when speaking in terms of combat, they're more comparable, but each can lead in to the other. For example-" He recalled the encounter with the Gorn and readied himself to recount. "I've been in a life-or-death situation before with an enemy I neither understood nor could reason with. I had to think of a way to defeat an enemy stronger than myself. It took what I knew of combat- _strategy_ \- and my understanding of chemistry to eventually come to a solution."

Thackeros seemed almost impressed. He blinked his solid black eyes, momentarily flashing two pairs of pearly eyelids.

"And did you defeat this enemy?" The Governor's tone much clarified the meaning of 'defeat'.

"He was unable to continue fighting, and I let him live." Kirk wouldn't go too much into detail if he could. It wasn't exactly a pleasant memory.

Thackeros didn't push the subject. "I see. This is admirable, Captain, to show mercy thus. Is this the way of your people?"

Kirk managed half a grin. "I'd like to say most of them feel the same way as I do. Though, it would be arrogant to presume I speak for all humanity- let alone all the peoples of the Federation- I do believe that in most places I know, mercy is favored."

Thackeros nodded. Kirk supposed it was a look of contemplation, but the long, egg-like face made it harder to tell. The Mnasons looked _almost_ like old Earth's idea of aliens, with their large black eyes and reptilian skin. But the people of Mnas III ran more… _pastel_ in coloring, and their heads were not so large as the balloons found in ancient films.

"Now, I've had about enough of that!"

Kirk groaned internally. He could hear McCoy from across the courtyard. It seemed he was in the middle of a disagreement with his own guide.

"Doctor McCoy, I see no reason for offense."

"No reason-!"

Kirk found the pair on the adjacent sidewalk. It looked like McCoy was hard-pressed to rein in his temper.

"I reckon things may be different here," McCoy managed in an even tone, "but where I come from, questioning a man's oath is an insult."

Oh boy.

"I only wished for clarification, Doctor."

"After I answered variations thereupon at least half a dozen times?"

The Mnason blinked. Kirk exchanged a look with Thackeros and decided to jump in.

"Doctor. Councilwoman. I trust everything's going well."

McCoy's shoulders slumped a bit. Not a question, then, more like a command. He glanced over at his Captain before turning back to Councilwoman Nikoyla.

"I apologize for my outburst, ma'am."

The Councilwoman seemed to deflate a bit as well, but not so much as the Doctor. "I believe I understand that it is within reason." She said with little conviction. "It was perhaps what you humans call 'pushing it'."

Kirk stepped in to do some diplomacy of his own. "I'm sure the Doctor meant no offense either." He shot a brief look at Bones. "On Earth, physicians hold their oaths in the highest regard. It's not only a matter of honor but of principle."

Thackeros warmed up faster than Nikoyla was going to. "I see. Forgive us these questions, Captain, Doctor, but you are new and we wish to know you well. You may also ask us anything you wish. We have few secrets here on Mnas III."

They did not appear to. Spock and his guide appeared through one of the archways, engrossed in some sort of discussion on data optimization. Once the pair realized they were not so alone, Spock straightened and the Mnason bowed to her superiors.

"Captain. Governor. Councilwoman." Spock inclined his head. "We have been discussing the use of an aluminum alloy in data chips. Madam Floro has explained the Mnason process to me. It is quite fascinating."

Kirk grinned. Leave it to Spock to find another scientist. He and McCoy were stuck with bureaucrats, the both of them.

"I'm glad for it, Spock. There's much to be learned on both sides, I think. We can certainly know each other better if we're willing to share."

McCoy didn't cross his arms, but he felt like that was directed at him. Blast it all, he _had_ been sharing. He'd been the model officer, answering question after question about his methods, his motivations, his oath. Nikoyla kept pressing him. She wanted to know if he'd do the same for an enemy officer. Would he help an enemy officer who had previously been convicted of a crime? Or an enemy who had killed one of his colleagues? McCoy'd gotten sick of it.

But maybe things would start looking up. Jim and Spock were back. They'd be enough of a buffer between him and this uppity councilwoman that they might just make it through without interplanetary incident.

"Who'd've guessed it, Spock, you finding a conversation about computers?"

"As it is my area of expertise, Doctor I-"

Spock recoiled, shocked, green spurting from a hole in his uniform. Another. _Another_.

McCoy's eyes bugged. Before he could so much as shout, Spock was collapsing. He heard his Captain's cry and managed a half turn. The gold uniform was already switching red.

He lunged, only to find himself dragged back by two sets of hands. Thackeros and Nikoyla had moved to either side of him and now they had their claws in him. McCoy could feel his pulse pounding against the pressure on his arms, the dirt under his heels giving way as he was pulled back. Jim and Spock were on the grass. Twitching, _writhing_. It was then he screamed. All the panic swirling in his gut made itself heard. He couldn't hear it over the blood in his ears, but his lungs were bursting.

McCoy watched from ten yards as the bodies stilled. A switch was flipped, and there all the numbers were. Statistics flashed across his mind, human and Vulcan survival rates, percentage blood loss over time, length before transfusion was possible. Arterial damage. Organ damage. Loss of oxygen… collapse…

He surged forward again and it took another set of arms to keep him. They pulled him further and further back until he couldn't see them anymore. It hit like a freight train. His legs buckled, but he was hardly grateful for the hands holding him up. All the air was gone. There was just the hot weight of… He couldn't bring his racing mind or his hammering heart to a slow. Not until the fog crept in and the rest of him gave way.

Jim and Spock were gone. It was too late.

/*\\\

"Shock."

"It is their word for it?"

"Yes." Thackeros checked the data once again to be sure. The _Lexington's_ language banks had been offered freely. "It has affected him deeply. I did not realize humans could even do this, with their history of wars and death. Could they not rid themselves of this mechanism? How does it work with their soldiers?"

Nikoyla stared at the unconscious human. He was irritable and irritating in equal parts. She couldn't see how one so combative had managed to work his way through the ranks, or managed to land a position on the flagship. Especially since his coping mechanism was _unconsciousness_. Were humans really so pathetic, or just his one?

"Perhaps he is of weak constitution. Perhaps he always faints at the sight of death."

Thackeros paused to consider. Many men of the _Lexington_ had died in battle so they were told, had seen their crewmates die and they had not answered to these symptoms. Nikoyla could have a point. This would assuredly require further study. So much about humans- and about their Federation- was unknown to them. They'd heard talk of peace and of aid, mutual benefits and cooperation, but what evidence was there? And how could they know that these humans would not take a set against them? How could they know they had made _real_ allies?

"He is waking."

They watched the human doctor in silence. It was clear he was still deeply shocked. They watched as he explored the confines of his prison with his eyes. The rest of his body did not move, except for a minute tremor in his chest. Sooner than they expected the doctor surged to his feet. He swore at the ceiling, pouring out phrases Thackeros could not match in the language banks.

Anger. There it was. Thackeros had been expecting it. Humans often reacted with hostility to things that upset them. Certainly this human was not calm. He was not asking answerable questions or acting rationally. _Perhaps_ , he thought, _we should have spared the Vulcan instead._

But even sooner did the doctor tire again. The flame of anger that had burned so brightly now fizzled out. It was replaced with something else. Thackeros consulted the _Lexington's_ poets. Misery. Grief. Woe. The doctor poured out such a volume of emotion that Thackeros had to look away. He observed Nikoyla, the hard lines on her face unmoved by the doctor's display.

If anyone had taken a set against anyone else, it was Nikoyla. She had activated her transponder very shortly after being assigned the Doctor's case. Thackeros had not even had time to weigh Kirk's character for the Trying. Yet she had chosen so quickly.

He considered that Nikoyla and the Doctor may not have been a good match. Floro was infinitely more patient and accomplished in dealing with difficult cases. Perhaps Nikoyla, her eyes hard as she watched the human grieve, had hardly begun the Knowing at all.

"It must be their ritual." She observed shortly.

Thackeros was not as sure.

/*\\\

Floro would bring the news. They were stationed under the city hospital for safety as much as convenience. If the human doctor experienced complications, they could have him seen to in moments. But a dual purpose was served here. Floro prepared herself.

She had seen some of the doctor's grief. She had seen the like few times in her lifespan. Old as she was, Floro was not so frail. If the need arose, she could carry the human to his appointed destination. The Trying must be completed, though she did not wholly agree with such a grievous test. Diplomatic deals had always been decided on less, amongst their people. Nikoyla thought the test must be harder for strangers.

She opened the door slowly. He was there, curled up on the cot like a wounded animal. Only, he had his back to the door. She supposed he might be asleep, for why else would he turn away from what in his mind must mean danger? Was he so absorbed that he did not recognize danger anymore?

But the doctor's head came up after a few moments of silence. No, he was aware. Floro could see his eyes, moist and red as if they had been attacked. There was slack in his posture, as if he was being held up by a string. She was momentarily taken aback. In his eyes, she saw a thousand mothers deprived of their children, families mourning, inconsolable after their loved ones had passed. Floro knew despair. Nikoyla might be very wrong indeed.

"Doctor McCoy. I am allowed to come only because there is an emergency. One of the council has taken deadly ill. There is an operation scheduled but we-"

Her voice died when those eyes locked with hers. There was some spark of recognition, some awareness of what he was being asked. He looked at her, and she knew he was willing. Floro felt in this moment lower than the dirt. Guilt welled up in her chest. She knew Thackeros and Nikoyla and the others were watching, but she could not stop. She had been a nurse once, long before medicine had become simple. In all these years, how had they forgotten? Did only the bleeding need care? Did only the horrible accidents deserve attention anymore?

Floro crossed the room in an instant. Her long legs were not the reason for her haste. She registered surprise that the doctor had not so much as moved. He did not care what she did to him. _That_ was resignation.

"Please come." Floro said softly. She reached out and touched his arm. There _was_ an accident in need of attention.

For a moment, it looked like the doctor might lean into her touch, accept her help. Floro was not very surprised when he did not. He stood, slowly, on his own power. She led him to the door.

Thackeros was right. This was all a huge mistake. As soon as Floro saw him again, she would tell him. She'd tell Nikoyla too. They needed to stop this.

/*\\\

McCoy stared at the wall of his cell. Gray. Blank. He was locked in an alien cell without hope of escape, or hope of any kind at all. Jim and Spock were gone. The _Enterprise_ could rescue him but what then? It was too late. It was hours too late.

He'd wrapped his arms around his chest and turned his back on the door. It didn't matter who came in. It didn't matter what they did with him. The worst was already over. What else could they possibly do?

His legs were folded up nearly touching his elbows. McCoy had adopted the position without much thought. What was there to think about? His mind had already conjured up the figures. He knew the ghosts like he knew the cell. They were both empty, both beyond doing anything about. McCoy was trapped.

They might as well have sentenced him to die with his friends. It seemed they saw value in a physician. Too bad those first injuries hadn't been a test. The Mnasons didn't have much use for deadweight.

McCoy stayed still. Not much point in moving around. If they wanted him, they could get him. That Nikoyla was wrong about his oath. He was as good as his word, for however long he had left in the world.

There were hurried footsteps in the hall, perhaps another emergency. McCoy sighed, but he wouldn't move until he was collected. He could barely muster up the strength to draw breath. Why bother until they had him leave?

The door opened. Silent hinges, but the clink of the lock disengaging, the whoosh of air as the cell and the hall were connected. There was no voice. No summons. Was he that pitiful, that they couldn't so much as check if he was alive?

McCoy lifted his head, craning his neck to see which of them had come for him now.

His heart stuttered. It wasn't supposed to happen so early. So vividly. He wasn't prepared for the apparition that stood in the doorway, devoid of the uniform top McCoy knew to be soaked with blood. Instead, it was a black clad figure that stood opposite him. Maybe it was fitting that the grim reaper would appear as one of his dearest friends.

"Just as cold as the real thing, though. You here for my soul?"

"Negative, Doctor. I am here…"

Spock stopped, having taken only one step through the doorway. He looked cold, chilled in his t-shirt but not so much like death. McCoy's heart wavered again. His voice was warm, like life, like his friend. It was then he noticed the little holes in the shirt. He wouldn't be able to see green for the black.

"I was… told you were _inconsolable_."

McCoy crumbled. Any relevant doubts were shoved aside. So what if Spock wasn't really there- he couldn't be- but it was so _like_ Spock, showing up when no one else could. The blasted hobgoblin always came through when there was no one left. McCoy managed to get to his feet, stumbling. Spock's ghost met him halfway, and McCoy extended an arm to prove to himself he was losing it. It was always better to know than to wonder.

His hand hit solid flesh. McCoy frowned, a firm believer in the brain's ability to trick the body, but when he looked up at that face, that _blasted_ eyebrow questioning the logic of prodding someone in the collarbone…

He wasn't aware he was crying until he inhaled his tears. McCoy fought for oxygen so he could get his mind straight. So he could puzzle through the fact that Spock was alive in front of him. Of course, Vulcan sensibilities being as they were, Spock remained frozen. He didn't know what to do with a sobbing human.

McCoy did the only thing he could. He threw his arms around Spock and buried his face in the Vulcan's shoulder. It was a disgusting display of emotion and he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop the hitching breaths or the shaking or any of it. Spock had been _dead_ , and now he was standing here. It was a mystery too great for McCoy's mind to process. Right now, all he could do was hug his friend and cry.

Spock wasn't an expert. He knew this for himself, and he was sure the Doctor was aware. There wasn't any logic in this grief, but Spock could not say he didn't understand. Something awful broiled in his stomach, a rage that swelled up his throat and could not be extinguished. He wrapped his arms around McCoy for support and it only seemed to incite more emotion. The Doctor's physical responses could not be controlled, Spock knew. No logic would help him. Only time.

He guided McCoy to the cot lest the Doctor collapse. Spock knew too well what it was like to witness the death of a friend. He could only imagine what it was like, what the feeling of Jim _and_ McCoy being ripped from him would be. It was only logical that the Doctor would feel… distressed…

It could have been hours, but Spock knew it was only minutes before McCoy started to quiet. The tidal wave of emotion had swept the Doctor's energy away.

"How, Spock?" McCoy rasped. "And Jim!" He bolted upright, nearly catching Spock's chin with his head. "Tell me Jim's alive too! I… I have to know."

With infinite care, Spock pulled McCoy's hands away from where they'd been bunched in his shirt. He held them for a moment, before letting McCoy have them back.

"He is." Spock said, a tinge of relief evident in his tone. "May I show you?" Hesitantly, he held up one hand.

Recognition clicked in McCoy's expression. His concern far outweighed any doubts he had about melding. And this was Spock. Spock would only do the right thing.

"Please, Spock. Show me Jim's alive too."

The event was unpleasant from every angle. They were one, and Spock could see as he had seen, and as McCoy had seen. They had both watched Jim 'die', while only Spock was aware of the truth. He could feel the barb in his skin. It jolted with electricity, as did the others on his chest and back. Green dye had burst from the projectile on contact, staining Spock's shirt. He couldn't move as he fell. Spock was helpless as the spasms completed the illusion.

McCoy couldn't know, and was led to the scene than unfolded next. Mnasons had come for them, carrying them to a different set of rooms. Their stained uniforms were taken away and they saw through Spock's eyes the remainder of the paralysis. Thackeros had come to him, pleading. Jim was all fury and disbelief- loud and large and living. He _demanded_ to speak to the parties responsible for the stunt. Spock added in a gentle assurance, as he had on Theta Kiokis II*, to convince McCoy of this reality.

The meld ended. McCoy inhaled sharply. He feared the waterworks would start again, but they didn't. Spock had done the job. Jim was alive. Spock was alive. This was all some kind of stunt but he didn't care anymore. He couldn't care.

"Get me outta here, Spock." His voice was low and thick with emotion. "I'm done. Take me to Jim."

Spock nodded. He stood, taking a good deal of the Doctor's weight with him. They left the cell together, McCoy on his own two feet.

/*\\\

Jim was finished with them. All of them. They could live out the rest of their lives doing whatever it was they pleased.

They wanted to test the Federation's _mercy_. He didn't know the depth of friendship between the officers of the _Enterprise_. He hadn't known how it would affect Doctor McCoy.

Once he could move again, Jim had exploded. He could tell the Mnasons had never seen anything like the unchecked fury of James T Kirk. They were educated in the error of their ways and shamed into never repeating such an experiment. Trust was not built on lab tests, but on friendship. People responded to kindness, not cruelty.

"If you knew anything of mercy-" He glowered as he let the administration have it, "- you would have let him see. Don't you understand? This could kill him!"

Spock had been allowed to tend to McCoy. Jim supposed it was better this way. He got a chance to let the Mnasons have it.

And boy did he tell them. He singled Nikoyla- McCoy's guide- out for most of his tirade after seeing her detached expression and the cool way she spoke of _tests._ Jim hammered the point home about McCoy's oath and his mission to help those in need regardless of the circumstances.

"Perhaps we ought to test your mercy." He spat. "Since all I've seen here is the great lack of it. You would kill a man's family- because on the _Enterprise_ we _are_ family- in front of him and lock him up without a word? You would do that to test… his… mercy."

Thoroughly shamed, the Mnasons offered apologies and what recompense they could. They had abolished disease amongst their kind and promised to treat McCoy as well as possible for the strain. Jim was afraid it would mean years off his friend's life if something weren't done. Bones was strong, but could he take a shock like that in stride?

He was storming out of the meeting hall when he was nearly knocked off his feet. Something warm and awfully clingy was wrapping itself around him. The frustration melted right off as he pulled his friend close. Bones was safe.

"I take it Spock found you then?"

Bones mumbled something into his shirt before pulling back. "Jim, I thought y'all were dead."

He squashed the flare of anger and smiled instead. "You're always telling me I'm too stubborn to die. What happened to that?"

McCoy's chuckle was weak, but he tried. "This time I reckon it wasn't your fault. I can give you that much." Bones looked weary. It must've been… Jim couldn't quantify it.

"We're taking you back to the ship, checking ourselves into Sickbay, and sleeping through the rest of the mission. Captain's orders." Jim grinned. "How does that sound?"

A real laugh this time, but no comment on how willing Jim was to go to Sickbay. Kirk was afraid for Bones, after watching that. Just because his friend walked and talked didn't mean he was OK. Far from it, in his experience. And as a doctor, knowing death as intimately as any soldier… A good night's sleep might be nigh on impossible.

Spock caught on. "It is a logical plan, Captain. I am sure rest will be beneficial." There was something in his eyes, something that conveyed confidence. Success. Spock believed it would work out, the two of them being there. As long as they were by his side, a constant reassurance that this _was_ all a bad dream; that was enough.

McCoy slept through Scotty's debriefing, the Bridge crew's response, and the Captain's full authorization of any swearing Scotty wanted to direct at the planet on his behalf.

The ship's night was peaceful as can be. And _boy,_ did Montgomery Scott swear.

 **A/N: *Being the mind-meld in Spectre of the Gun**

 **Edit: Guess who's an idiot? It's the airhead who put 'Spectre of the Gun' before 'The Ultimate Computer' for the sole purpose of Extra Angst. I can't even believe... You know what? Forget it. Star Trek AU where 'Spectre of the Gun' is in season 2. I'm so mad.**


	5. Cheesy Damsel in Distress-REALLY CHEES

**A/N: Are you tired of reading Rescue fics from me? I'm about to disappoint you again and I'm only somewhat sorry.**

The landing party had been _fine_. Really. Nothing had gone wrong for the duration of the dinner, through the entire speech and subsequent toasts, or even during the little fireworks demonstration. None of the ancient pyrotechnics had exploded in a manner other than the one intended. It was a miracle.

Unfortunately the neighboring Marquess decided it was time to go to war.

Through no fault of the landing party at all whatsoever, the entire mission fell apart. Jim was sailing up to the ramparts, directing archers and imparting strategy. Spock was trying to work out how to make the rest of the fireworks explode in an _unconventional_ manner.

McCoy was comforting the Lady of the castle, an Earl's wife who was not only distraught but also heavily pregnant. The Earl himself was dashing around next to Jim, covered in soot and ready to defend his home.

"You're in the best possible hands, ma'am. The Captain and Commander Spock are the smartest people I know." He was trying to get her _away_ from the garden party and into the castle proper. Flaming arrows were dropping too frequently for his liking.

"I do hope so." She said simply. It was hard enough fleeing for her life in this great big dress without having to dodge projectiles. McCoy figured he ought to go holler at the invaders himself and shame them for putting this lady in such a situation. Surely their mothers had taught them better.

They sidestepped a flaming patch of grass and approached the main door. McCoy spotted Uhura running the same way with the flags from the outer wall. She'd tied up her skirt in a way that made it easier to run in, and she was preparing to run up a signal for another- friendlier- close neighbor.

"Uhura! Help me get her inside!" Most people in the castle complex were running _towards_ the action and not away from it. Good for them, but it made transporting an encumbered lady that much more difficult.

The Lieutenant, bless her, met him halfway. Together, they escorted the lady home.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous crash and the whole western gate splintered inward. The wood was shoved aside and the Marquess' men poured through.

"Hurry!" The trio picked up the pace, McCoy supporting the lady more heavily than he had been a minute ago. She was not nearly about to pop, but this wasn't getting any easier for her. In all likelihood, she'd probably never run in shoes like those either.

They were still ten yards from the gate when the advancing army reached them. It was only a few men at this point, but they all seemed to recognize the Lady of the Castle.

"Go! I'll hold them off!" McCoy released the Earl's wife into Uhura's care and went after the invaders with the closest thing at hand: an upturned chair. The burliest man of the bunch was up to bat first, and he didn't look like he thought much of McCoy's weapon. The red aura of the sunset and the repurposed fireworks cast his armor in blood and fire. McCoy had two boots and a heap of kindling. He was gonna make sure those two ladies made it into the castle safe.

With a roar he didn't think himself capable of, the doctor turned his chair into a viable weapon and broke the blasted thing over the head of this brute. When the giant fell, all that was left was two chair legs and a massive shot of adrenaline. McCoy disposed of one by chucking it into a man's helmet, and the other he used to stop a sword from taking his head off.

Now, he was effectively unarmed and he hadn't had a chance to see if the ladies had made it out safe. He'd done his duty as a gentleman, and now he was about to pay for it.

Luckily (or unluckily, as he thought of it later) the Marquess himself had a penchant for revenge.

McCoy was hit from behind by the ramming end of somebody's shield. All the air left him as he hit the ground, pinned under whoever'd taken him down. In the low light, he couldn't see much save for the occasional flash of red. Spock must be firebombing the enemy forces. What in the world had happened to the Prime Directive? _Right, that went out the window with the good ship_ Brussels _and the natives' telescopes. How they got the chest full of treaties into the atmosphere before they'd mastered controlled explosions, he'd never know._

But it seemed like he wasn't destined to die like this. As soon as his attacker saw he was unarmed, something came down hard on the back of his head. The last thing he saw was a burst of red light.

He'd woken up the second they'd decided to dump a bucket of water over his head, but some fool opted to slap him for good measure.

McCoy spit some water to the side before trying to get a fix on the hazy shape in front of him. Whatever the light source was, it kept flickering, making it even harder to see. _Candles? Torches?_ Some sort of fire, not artificial light. Just where the heck was he?

"This certainly isn't the Earl, Sir Karvey." The voice bounded back off the walls and just made his headache worse. So they'd mistaken him for the Earl and taken him alive. Whether or not they'd stand by that last bit, he wasn't so sure.

"He was escorting the Lady Tirien to the castle. He even fought your Wallbreakers off with nothing but a chair. If this is not the Earl, then it is one of his knights."

A black-gloved hand grabbed him by the jaw and lifted his face toward the light. McCoy squinted. The man in front of his was without a doubt the Marquess. Nobody on this backwater rock dressed so nicely besides the Earl himself. They had a relatively high standard of living even among what could be considered 'the poor', but finery was reserved for the ruling class. It was like a uniform in their culture, almost. "I am The Most Honorable Slannen, Marquess of the Gibern Territory. And you are no Earl."

McCoy found he couldn't pull back, both because of his recovering muscle coordination and the fact that he was securely bound to a chair. Things were getting more melodramatic by the minute and he didn't like it.

"I'm not." He spoke directly to the flickering face in front of him. "Not a knight and not the Earl. I'm just a simple country-… healer." Starfleet had their treaty, but they'd opted to let this people develop as they would, and that meant communicating on their terms.

The Marquess released McCoy's face and took a step back. The man was a little closer to one of the torches now, and McCoy could see the blond hair curling in ringlets down from a broad-brimmed hat. Slannen had a moustache as well, making him look every bit the Three Musketeers villain McCoy figured he must be.

"A healer? Is the Lady ill that she should need such close supervision?" The Marquess smirked at that. McCoy felt like he was missing something. "I do hope so. It would be the one bright spot on this failure of a day. That, and I could have your head on a pike."

McCoy swallowed hard but maintained a neutral expression. "Wouldn't do you any good. I'm no close friend of the Earl's. It would piss off Captain Kirk, though. Unless you want this castle to come crashing down on top of you, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Ah!" Slannen's eyes lit up at the mention. "One of the good Space Captains, then! Oh, you are much more valuable alive. You are, I assume, one of his entourage?"

He got the uneasy feeling that he'd not only put his foot in his mouth, but was fixin' to choke on it. McCoy decided that from this point on he was gonna keep his mouth shut.

That only seemed to encourage the Marquess. His eyes glinted with some sort of satisfaction. He'd cast his next out randomly and landed a prize fish. McCoy certainly felt a little green around the gills. He didn't like the idea of being used as a bargaining chip, especially with somebody as clearly untrustworthy as Slannen.

There was that predatory smile again. McCoy felt as if he might be ripped to shreds.

"He must be an excellent healer, Karvey. Why, he was entrusted with the safety of the Lady Tirien! I do believe he is much more friendly with the Earl than he has led us to believe." Slannen stroked his moustache in what might've been- in any other circumstance- a comical manner. "Perhaps we should keep him- or at least _brand him_ so his precious Captain will know who owns this wretched world."

If ever he understood the expression 'cold sweat' it was now. The knight Karvey's expression was blank as a statue's, unlike his employer. McCoy was powerless to stop them from doing, well, _anything._ He couldn't run even if he was cut loose. Nobody'd ever told him _where_ the Marquess' castle was, and even then they might not even be there. This might just be some tower out in the wilderness, or some dungeon way out of the way.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was an eerie feeling, accompanied by the goose bumps spreading up his arms. Marquess Slannen might be a pompous noble, but he could be downright terrifying if he put his mind to it.

Not to be cowed by the medieval villains, McCoy set his jaw and defiantly refused to give them the satisfaction. "Captain Kirk is not a man to be intimidated. I want you to understand something, pal: he's taken down bigger and badder than you without breaking a sweat. I don't see an easy victory in this for you. In fact-" McCoy managed a smirk of his own. "I don't see you coming out of this well at all."

Slannen scowled. "Karvey."

He barely had time to brace himself before the blow came. Karvey certainly didn't pull his punches. McCoy spat blood while the room was still spinning.

"I'll have the irons heated for you, Sir Karvey. In the meantime, why don't you show our guest the proper way to intimidate someone?"

The Most Honorable Slannen, Marquess of the Gibern territory, left without another word.

* * *

Footfalls behind him. The guard turned, unsure as to who would be coming this way so late at night. No one else was patrolling this sector.

That would be the first mistake.

The guard crumpled. His helmet rolled a few feet away, knocked off by his attacker's staff. The intruder slipped off down the unprotected corridor. It was two lefts and a sharp right before the long hall to the tower. This information had been provided by a servant girl with a taste for justice. Even the cook was happy to turn a blind eye to the unapproved access. It seemed the servants here were not so loyal to their Marquess.

Two lefts went by before the next guard could be found. Their fight was short but loud. Another set of footsteps could be heard racing down the long hall ahead. This guard fell to the ground, and the intruder held out the staff that had felled so many of the Marquess' men at the man himself.

Slannen hurried round the corner with a hand on his sword. He hadn't expected the Earl's retaliation so quickly. But, this did confirm his foe's esteem of the healer. The Marquess would have the intruder thrown from his castle gravely injured, but alive enough to deliver a message the Earl would never forget.

He unsheathed his sword and matched the cloaked figure's stance. "You thought you could have the better of me in my own castle, did you?" Slannen looked over his opponent and was pleased to find a disadvantage in stature. "I would have my knight dispatch you, but he is rather _busy_ seeing to my guest. Besides, it will be much more fun sending you back to the Earl in pieces myself!"

Slannen lunged and attacked his enemy with gusto. Surely a wooden staff would be no match for a blade in the hands of a nobleman! He bared his teeth at the intruder. This would be a short fight.

It was. It was a _very_ short fight. Slannen's sword went skittering across the floor and before he knew it, he was pinned at the neck by his enemy's staff.

"Now." The voice said by his ear, "You and I are going for a little walk."

* * *

Sir Karvey put his hands on his hips. While it had been _very easy_ for him to defend his Marquess' honor, he found it much harder to harm the healer without Slannen giving the orders. As he was fiercely loyal to the noble of his homeland, so too was this man to his Captain. Karvey had demanded information and had received none.

"You hit me all you want, but I ain't sayin' a thing."

He was at an impasse. None of his regular threats had enticed so much as on oath from the healer. No, he stood by his word. Not so much as a snippet of information crossed his lips.

It was infuriating. It was _admirable_.

"You will not concede, even though my master is on his way with an iron brand?" He thought he saw his prisoner shudder, but the man held his ground.

"I figure he's gonna do it either way. Seems like the kind of man who enjoys other people's pain."

Karvey was taken aback. Yes, the Marquess was a hard man… He resented the Earl for his power, but also for his tyranny, did he not? Karvey had seen for himself the Space Captain, and his eagerness to aid the Earl in battle. But even an honorable man could aid a tyrant, couldn't he?

"And yet you side with the _Earl_." Karvey spat. "If there is a lecture to be had on honor, it is for him."

To his surprise, the healer scoffed. "We talking 'bout the same Earl? Eghar of the Northern Expanse, or whatever you call this mess?" He shook his head. "The people love him, and I can see why. Hardly known the man for five hours, but he's introduced me to all his kids, every one of his cooks, and took Spock around a guided tour of the firework factory. Everyone I spoke with had a different story to tell about him. By all accounts, he's a greater man than your Marquess."

Karvey felt his cheeks color and he raised a hand to demand apology for the insult. The healer squeezed his eyes shut and several things happened at once.

There was a shout from outside and Karvey turned. The door burst inward and there was the Marquess, but he had no brand, not even a hot poker. Slannen did have a staff crushing his windpipe. Karvey's eyebrows hit the roof.

"Step away from the Doctor and nobody gets hurt _worse._ " He was surprised to hear a woman's voice from behind the Marquess. He didn't think the Earl had any Lady Knights.

Karvey raised both his hands and stepped back. He frowned as he did so. Slannen had his sword, and yet he was bested by a woman with a staff. The Marquess was rarely taken by surprise, so what then? Had he lost to her in an honest fight? If he had challenged a lady, then he was hardly so honorable as Karvey had supposed. Women hardly had the time or access to sword training that men did. It was more than unchivalrous…

 _But even an honorable man could aid a tyrant, couldn't he?_

He looked on his master in a new light. The night raids, the insults… He'd been ordered to torture a healer. Karvey thought he might be sick.

"I shall pose no threat to you, my Lady. Do what you will with that villain. I shall not aid him any longer."

The cloaked lady seemed surprised, but she didn't let go of the Marquess.

"In that case," She said, "Release the Doctor."

Karvey inclined his head. He ignored Slannen's outrage as the Lady shoved him toward the stone wall and began shackling him in. One kick from the Marquess and she knocked him flat. Slannen did not stir again.

The healer was wary of him, but Karvey did exactly as he was instructed. The bonds were severed at once and he did not so much as lay a hand on the healer out of respect for him and the Lady both.

She finished with Slannen and hurried to the healer's side. It was hard to see her face past the cloak in this dim light, but she pulled back her hood and was revealed to be a stunning beauty.

"Uhura!" The healer's face lit up at the sight of her. "I figured it was you. No way Jim would make it this far without his shirt in tatters."

She smiled at his joke, but was far more concerned his battered state. She cupped his face in her hands and looked over his injuries.

"We're getting you back to the castle this instant! I'm sure the Captain and Mister Spock are worried sick over you. I know I was."

Karvey did not wish to intrude, but he knew it was only a matter of time until the guards regrouped to storm the tower. "My Lady Uhura," He interrupted, "would you do me the great service of accepting my surrender, and turning me over to the Earl to stand trial for my actions? We should leave at once, before the rest of the castle is raised."

Uhura turned to him and fixed him with a steely glare. Karvey stayed frozen. Truly, he had not felt such fear before.

"Aw, he's not a _bad_ guy." The healer spoke up on his behalf. "I reckon he's miserable too, having to work with that sack of-"

"Indeed, he is sometimes intolerable." Karvey interrupted again. He could hear the footsteps on the stairs and moved to bolt the door. "But the more pressing concern is his reinforcements."

"They seek me here, they seek me there- the Marquess seeks me everywhere!" Uhura recited.

"I figure we gotta be a little more 'elusive' than your Pimpernel! It's not gonna be long before they're through." The healer got to his feet with Uhura's assistance. Karvey knew he didn't have time to regret the injury, subsequent abduction, and additional injury to the poor man. It was time to move. He scooped up the coil of rope resting in the corner of the room, tied the two ends in a knot, and ran the rope through the shackle closest to the window. Karvey threw open the wooden shutters.

"Oh no we're _not!_ " The healer shied away from the window.

The Lady Uhura grabbed his arm. "Doctor McCoy, you are going out that window and that's final!" McCoy paled, but he yielded to her authority. Karvey was starting to wonder just what kind of position she held in the Space Captain's crew. He would've supposed she _was_ the Captain herself had McCoy not said it was a man.

"You take him down first." Uhura turned to Karvey. "I can't hold him up and I don't trust him to hold himself."

Karvey nodded and ignored McCoy's indignant protests.

"Now look here, Uhura, I understand why you're concerned, but I'm perfectly capable of climbing down a rope!" McCoy scowled, and suddenly Karvey didn't want to be in the middle of this. "If he wants to _follow me_ down, he can, but by gum I will knock him into next week if he tries anything else!"

Karvey was _not_ going to try anything else. He did get onto the rope first so that he could _catch_ the healer if he fell. McCoy didn't say anything. That was just fine.

Uhura started coming down last. She'd ditched her party dress for something more practical, but it didn't matter much in the total darkness. They wouldn't be able to see where the ground was, save for the moon's reflection off the grass.

There wasn't much time to marvel at the sight. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Karvey heard the door in the tower splinter. "Jump, Healer!" He called upwards. McCoy hesitated, then let go of the rope. He fell about four feet into the knight's arms, but it wasn't too bad of a fall.

"Get ready to catch me!" There was a glint of light higher up, then Uhura fell- taking the rope with her. Karvey was knocked down under the force of her landing. She'd fallen from much higher up than McCoy and might very well have been injured.

"You two alright?" McCoy helped them both off the ground, staring in the low light to get a good look. It was just about impossible.

Uhura nodded and brushed herself off. "I'm fine, but we'll need to move. Karvey- didn't break anything did I?"

"Nothing, my lady." He eased himself off the ground. No need to add pride to the list of bruises. And she was right. It wouldn't take long before the castle got mobilized. The Marquess would not take betrayal very well.

Uhura took McCoy's arm and headed off towards one side of the castle. "We go this way. I've got a wagon waiting in the woods with water and bandages. We… Lady Tirien was sure you'd be harmed Leonard…" Her voice softened. McCoy supposed it wasn't because of stealth.

They made the rest of the trip in silence. Uhura found the wagon quickly enough, with one of Lady Tirien's handmaidens driving. Karvey took the front seat with the young lady to help guide the wagon, while Uhura bundled McCoy into the back.

"Alright, Eiry, let's go."

There was water, just like she said, and McCoy drank it gratefully. Other than the knock on the head and some persisting aches, he wasn't that bad off. He felt extremely tired. That might be dangerous, considering the high risk for concussion. But the bumpy wagon would keep him awake for the time being.

Uhura took the opportunity to throw the cloak over his shoulders and scoot into his side. He reached out to find her hand and held it in both of his. McCoy had supposed Jim would come and negotiate for him, eventually, but Uhura had made the rescue _that night_.

"Thank you, darlin'." He said over the clatter of the wagon.

"All in a day's work for the Scarlet Pimpernel." She chuckled.

 **A/N: Honestly though, I feel really weird about writing the same trope 1100 different ways, but I also** _ **so thoroughly enjoy it.**_ **If your review is "You've already written this story 5, maybe 6 times" It's OK. I know. I really, truly know.**

 **And I'm probably writing another one right now... Can anyone say 'Janice Rand saves Literally Everyone'?** **Coming soon to VHS and DVD.**


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